Walking Dead (TV Universe) One-Shots
by Shian1998
Summary: My collection of one-shots I've written that are set within the universe of the Walking Dead TV series, its spinoff Fear the Walking Dead, the upcoming films and any future spinoffs. Possible spoilers if you aren't up to date with these shows.


**1\. Ghosts in a Wasteland:**

 **Hi everyone. This is where I'll be uploading all my one-shots set in the Walking Dead TV Universe. Most of these will be connected to the original show, though I'll also do some for Fear The Walking Dead, and in the future when the films and possibly other spinoffs are released I may write some for those as well. Please take the time to read and tell me what you think. If you have any feedback I could use, I would definitely appreciate that. Though no rude comments please. :)**

 **Also, if you are not caught up with the series, some of these could potentially have spoilers, so be aware of that.**

 **If this is read by anyone who's waiting for the next chapter of my first story 'In Memory of Carl Grimes', I'm so sorry for how long I've been taking. I had meant to get it done a lot sooner. I'm trying to get a few one-shots done for Christmas (for this and my other one-shot collections), but after that I promise I will focus on getting the rest of 'In Memory of Carl Grimes' done.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Walking Dead or Fear The Walking Dead, or any other associated media.**

—

The weary survivor trudged slowly along the road, gazing into the constant emptiness before them. Nothing on the road before them but debris, ruined and abandoned vehicles, and numerous corpses in various stages of decomposition. On either side of the road were trees, overgrown bush, and occasional houses, each one visibly falling apart as nature reclaimed them.

The survivor glanced to their side, seeing their last remaining companion trudging along just behind. Their face and clothes were covered in dust, grime, and dried blood. 'Where did that blood come from,' the survivor wondered, 'themselves, former allies, former enemies, the dead? All of them?' The survivor wondered if they themselves were as filthy as their companion.

A familiar snarl was heard from their right, and the survivor turned to see two of the dead stumble out of the woods, pale eyes staring hungrily towards them. The survivor sighed, then wearily unsheathed their machete, walked over and split the nearest monster's head in two. They then looked up to see their companion stabbing their sharpened stick of wood through the other walker's eye socket. The survivors pulled their weapons free, letting the corpses fall, and continued down the path they'd been on for days, hoping they'd find something they could use before it was too late.

It had been days since they'd last eaten, and even before that it had been rare for them to find enough food to sustain them. Their water wouldn't last much longer, even with the way they had been rationing it. They still carried a couple of handguns in case they could ever be used, but it had been a long time since they'd seen any ammunition. Sleep had been difficult for weeks now, as they couldn't find a place safe enough for them to properly sleep in. Not that anywhere was safe these days. No matter how safe a house or other building seemed to be, they knew from far too many horrible experiences that they were always in danger of been snuck up on by the dead. Or worse, by the living. The living were the true threat. No matter if they were acting out of survival, or insanity, or sadism, they were all dangerous.

The survivor could barely remember anymore the time before things went bad, back when people were everywhere and they could walk amongst each other without fear of being attacked. Now, encounters with the living were occurring less and less often, and they rarely ended well. The survivor had lost count of how many people they had killed, and could barely tell or even care anymore when a kill was justified or not.

The survivor had once had hope that things would get better somehow. That the world could be rebuilt once more. But over the years that hope had withered away until there was nothing left to keep them going except for survival instinct pushing them to stay alive. Occasionally they had come across actual communities, containing dozens of residents, making an effort to rebuild their idea of a civilisation. These communities had once made them think they could finally live a safe and peaceful life, but experience taught them that these oases almost always had a cost, a hidden agenda, one that made living in them even more dangerous than remaining on the treacherous road. And even when the communities were genuine, they were still vulnerable despite appearances, and sooner or later they always fell, putting whoever escaped back onto the road once more.

Even when things did seem to be safe, they could never truly be at peace, as they were constantly haunted. Haunted by their fear, which kept them from ever relaxing or truly living. Haunted by their trauma, resulting in nightmares, flashbacks, episodes of panic, irrationality or violence. And haunted by the dead. Forever followed by the ghosts, the memories, the screams. The screams of the countless they witnessed succumb to all manners of horrific deaths. Whether they were devoured by the dead, or slaughtered by people who had become even worse monsters. Whether the survivor had tried and failed to save them, or abandoned them to die, or actively killed them personally.

So many ghosts, of friends and foes alike, especially friends. The survivor had long ago lost track of how many friends and family they had lost over the years. Whether they knew them before the apocalypse, or had joined with them in the time since, inevitably they would all be gone sooner or later. And with no signs of the world getting any better, the survivor often wondered if there was any point in continuing on, since they were not really living anymore. But the primal instinct to keep existing had become too deeply ingrained into them. So they kept fighting to stay alive, despite having nothing left to live for in this emptying, ruined world. This wasteland. Making them indistinguishable from the ghosts.

They were ghosts in a wasteland.

They were the walking dead.


End file.
